Some Things Never Change
by Grace Mattox
Summary: Just some brotherly stuff. Set a few days after Jessica's death.


Dean wasn't sure exactly what kept him rooted where he stood, staring down into the dug-up grave just a few feet away from them, watching the bright orange flames flicker and rise. The gravestones and trees around them cast eery shadows onto the ground where the light from the fire spilled over, and if Dean hadn't spent practically his whole life hunting down things that went bump in the night, he might've been unnerved. But the shadows weren't the reason his stomach twisted so violently, the reason his chest tightened as he watched the smoke rise, eyes trailing upwards for a moment before his gaze returned to the flames again.

No, the reason for the pain in his chest was that Sam was standing beside him, tense, stiff, not speaking, not moving. Dean spared him a glance without turning his head. Sam's face was twisted with pain, his mouth set into a grimace and Dean almost flinched. His baby brother shouldn't look like that, shouldn't have such an agonized expression. He'd seen that look on his father before, a long, long time ago, a look that appeared whenever John caught sight of anything that even looked like smoke or fire.

Dean didn't really have a problem with fire. Perhaps when he was younger he had nightmares where smoke filled his lungs, choking him as he held a much younger, infant Sam to his chest, trying to find his way out of the thick, smouldering cloud of smoke, hearing the sound of flames flickering just several feet behind them. His mother's death had left an impact on him, sure, but he'd never had such a reaction to fire as this.

The hunter shifted quietly on his feet so he could lean slightly to the side, propping himself up against the shovel he was holding beside him. The brothers were just waiting a while before they could shovel the dirt back into the grave and leave, but they had to make sure the bones actually burned before they left. You only make that mistake once. Dean smiled wryly to himself, but it melted almost as instantly as it appeared. Once more, his green gaze traveled back to Sam. He hadn't moved, not an inch. After a while, Dean finally decided to speak up.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. Such a stupid question - Of course Sam wasn't okay. Why the hell would he be?

Sam didn't say anything, just gave a short, rough nod in response, not taking his gaze off of the flames. Dean cleared his throat, staring at him. Even though it was dark, the light from the fire still seemed to sparkle off of his brother's clear gaze. His eyes were shining, and for a second Dean wondered if maybe it was from tears. Now that thought unnerved him - Dean had never done well with the emotional stuff. He was the soldier, the warrior.

But he was also the big brother, and he had to do something - Anything - To help Sam through this. Dean considered this for a few moments, turning his gaze to the flames, wondering what he could even say that would make this okay. And at the same time, he knew he couldn't - Nothing could make this okay. Not even that long ago, Sam had just watched his girlfriend go up in flames. On the ceiling. Sam just watched somebody he loved, die, in probably the worst way possible. And Dean should know from experience that there was nothing that could ever make that alright. Ever.

But somebody had to say something. The tension in the air was as thick as the smoke rising from the flames. Suffocating. Dean couldn't take it.

"Come on, Sam. Can you at least say one word?" Dean's head rolled slightly to the side, putting an annoyed look on his face as he stared at his brother. Well, at least Sam actually glanced at him that time, but he still didn't speak, giving a simple shrug.

"Please?" Dean cocked his head slightly to the side, trying to give off his best puppy-dog look, but he already knew he failed miserably. The whole wide-eyed innocent kicked-puppy look was definitely more Sam's thing. Still, it seemed to break the ice even just a little; The corner of Sam's mouth twitched up for a second. Dean's face broke into a grin, pleased that he'd gotten his brother to smile, even just a little bit.

Sam turned his gaze up to the sky, seemingly snapped out of his trance, and now he was avoiding looking at the fire because he knew once he did, the memories would resurface. Dean definitely understood that. It was silent for a few more moments before Sam finally spoke.

"It's cold out here."

"Y- Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Dean seemed to stutter a little bit over that sentence, prompting Sam to shoot him a confused look, one eyebrow raising at his brother. Dean just shrugged and smirked, trying to play it off like that's what he was going to say in the first place. But it wasn't, really- He was going to remind his brother that they were literally standing in front of a fire and ask him how on earth he was cold at all, but he decided against it in case it put Sam back in that frozen-like state again.

See, Dean knew how to bite his tongue sometimes. His filter wasn't great, but he still had one.

But Sam wasn't stupid - Dean knew his brother would probably guess what he had started to say anyway. Still, Sam just shrugged, lips twitching. It wasn't exactly a smile yet, but a ghost of one. Yet somehow Dean could see it in his eyes, anyway.

Sam was strong - Sam could pull through this.

And then suddenly all signs of a smile vanished from Sam's face, making Dean's heart jolt slightly - Not that he'd ever admit that - And his eyes lost the spark that had been there a moment before. His brother's gaze was torn away, eyes flickering around, and Dean didn't turn to look at whatever Sam may be looking at. Sam just seemed to be avoiding looking at the fire, but also avoiding looking at Dean. His lips parted slightly to speak, but instead he just let out a soft breath, reaching one hand up to run it through his rather long dark brown hair.

Dean pushed the thought that Sam definitely needed a haircut sometime away and waited, his unwavering gaze never leaving his younger brother's face.

"I'm sorry." Sam finally spoke. His voice was raw, the agony back, and it made a lump rise in Dean's throat. He had to swallow and clear his throat before he spoke.

"For what?" He sounded bewildered, and he was - What should Sam be sorry for?

"I just.." Sam took in a breath and let it out in a huff again, scrubbing a hand over his mouth before letting his arm drop to his side again. "I've always given you and Dad grief about hunting that yellow-eyed demon. It's just.." He seemed to be struggling for words. "I guess that... I was so young when Mom died, I don't even remember her death. Dad never even spoke about her and you didn't talk about how she died. The only description I ever got was from Dad's journal." He gestured a hand slightly at nothing in particular. "And now - Now this.."

"Sammy." Dean mumbled, eyebrows pinching together slightly. "It's alright. I get it."

"I didn't think it was that bad." Sam whispered. "And now imagining.." He suddenly laughed, and the sound was hollow, devoid of any emotion. "Imagining how traumatizing it must have been for you and Dad - You especially. How old were you Dean?" His gaze darted to his brother. "Five?"

Dean felt like needles were lodged in his throat, and his voice came out sounding as such when he spoke. "Four."

"Yeah." Sam gave that stupid, soft smile that just made Dean's chest hurt even more. "I've always resented this. The hunting, the desperate need for revenge," His eyes turned away again, narrowing toward the ground. "I've given you crap about it, I've given Dad crap about it. And now - Now I feel like a freakin' hypocrite, a jerk hypocrite, because.."

"I know, Sam." Dean found himself moving closer to his brother, reaching out a hand and placing it gently on Sam's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I know."

Sam blinked, staring down for a few moments longer before a resigned sigh escaped his lips, leaning slightly into his older brother's touch. "I just want that yellow-eyed demon dead, Dean." He muttered. His voice was much lower than before, softer, but there was an edge in his tone Dean had never heard before.

One Dean had never wanted to hear.

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He whispered, looking away for a second. He never wanted this. This wasn't what he'd expected would happen when he showed up at Sam's place and dragged him out to look for John. Dean fell silent for a few seconds more before nodding. "We're gonna kill him, Sammy."

"Good." Sam murmured. Dean felt his brother's hand on his own shoulder suddenly, and glanced up. Inwardly he couldn't help but feel annoyed by the fact that he had to look up at his younger brother, and amusement followed that thought soon after.

"We gonna fill this grave back up and leave, or not?" Sam's voice took on a lighter edge now, clearly wanting to forget the conversation. Dean silently had to agree with that, but while he claimed to hate chick-flick moments, this one he definitely didn't mind. His brother was at least letting some stuff out, and that was good.

"That's a good idea." Dean finally replied, letting his hand drop from Sam's shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I'm heading to a bar."

He had to keep a straight face when Sam's face scrunched up slightly at him in obvious disapproval, unable to help a grin from appearing on his face. Some things just didn't change, did they?

"Alcohol's gonna be the death of you, man," Sam sounded completely serious, but he was grinning. Dean mirrored his expression, turning to grab his shovel.

"Yeah. Screw ghosts and wendigos, I'm gonna die from friggin' alcoholic liver cirrhosis." Dean let out a low, sarcastic laugh.

"Wow, big words." Sam rolled his eyes slightly as a teasing smile appeared on his faze, grabbing his own shovel. "Don't hurt yourself."

Dean had already started shoveling the dirt back into the grave. But he paused in his task to look over at Sam, eyebrows raising slightly and his lips twisting into a smirk. "Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk." Sam shot back without missing a beat, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Dean's face broke into a grin, but he turned his gaze back to the gave and continued his task. That was the best sound he'd heard in a while, actually.

Yeah... Some things definitely didn't change.


End file.
